Li Yan's first battle soon became nothing more than a distant memory. After the fight, Lü Qiutong returned and denied having been struck by the so‑called Spiritual Cognition Poison. With Lü Qiutong's denial—and given that the Wangliang Sect was notorious for their endless experiments with various toxins, with new poisons appearing almost daily—most people quickly lost interest in the matter. After learning that Lü Qiutong had carelessly inhaled a toxin in a moment of inattentiveness, many dismissed it as just another new toxin in a long line of poisonous experiments. Moreover, Lü Qiutong deliberately glossed over the peculiar nature of the poison he had contracted. He did not want to provide others with any clue or countermeasure against Li Yan's methods. After all, only he himself was meant to know the true nature of the toxin. Additionally, even if some learned how Li Yan delivered his toxic attacks, few believed that Li Yan used only one standardized method—a method that, if it were the only option, would render everyone stricken in the same way. At the very least, no one yet knew what antidote to employ should someone be struck by that toxin again.
The Qi Condensation tournament raged on continuously. In each round, every fighter had to participate in at least three matches before it could be decided whether they would advance. With 420 competitors whittled down to 108 survivors, the process naturally required a great deal of time. In order to accelerate the tournament, the sect implemented methods different from those in the Foundation Establishment stage. First, they increased the number of battle platforms; second, they arranged for continuous, all‑day-and‑night duels.
While Li Yan watched the giant crystal screen, he silently recorded the characteristics of each opponent. Up to that time, he had fought in four bouts—losing two and winning two. The upcoming match, however, would be extremely important. In the two bouts he lost, his adversaries were, respectively, two masters who had attained the perfect state at the tenth level of Qi Condensation. In both encounters, Li Yan fought hard over a long period but ultimately could not overcome them. Strangely, the toxins these opponents unleashed only disrupted his movements momentarily—leaving him dazed for just a moment or causing a slight lag. Although that brief disruption gave his foes a window of opportunity to press their attack, it was also clear that Li Yan's water-based techniques—and his mysterious, elusive deadly toxin—had already caused serious trouble for his next three opponents. The two tenth‑level masters all remarked, almost in unison, that if it were not for the huge gap in cultivation, Li Yan's power might be insufficient to secure victory; as it stood, his abilities were far from overwhelming. Yet in one crucial bout at the late ninth level, Li Yan managed to use a series of successive "Tong Qi Lian Zhi" strikes to finally force one opponent into a state of defeat.
Li Yan also kept a mental note of the time he was scheduled to appear on stage. By now, night had fallen, and the enormous moon of the desolate Huangyue Continent had already risen high into the sky. Moreover, the battle platforms were cloaked in arrays of mystic formations whose radiant light ensured that every duel inside could be seen with complete clarity.
At that moment, on one of the battle platforms a swirling blue light slowly coalesced into two lines of characters: "33" versus "20." Then a voice sounded in Li Yan's ear: "The lot is drawn—on the Ninth Battle Platform, it is 33 versus 20." Li Yan inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves, then released his spirit instrument and soared upward into the night. His comrades—Wei Chituo, Gong Chenying, and even Yun Chunqu—did not exchange many words; they only offered him encouraging glances. Even Yun Chunqu shifted his gaze toward the crystal screen at the Ninth Battle Platform. Li Yan's recent battles had piqued their interest.
Beneath the light of the moon, Zhao Min's face, smooth as white silk, broke into the faintest of smiles as she looked upward. She enjoyed speaking with a young man beneath the moonlight; at that moment, it seemed as if the youth were sitting beside her, gazing into the vast horizon while speaking of the great green mountains in the distance.
After entering the blue-arranged protective formation, Li Yan flew directly to the center of the battle platform. Looking around, he noticed that his opponent had not yet appeared—indeed, he had arrived early. Retracting his spirit instrument, he stood quietly in the middle of the platform. A short while later, he slightly leaned forward as a flash of light streaked onto the stage from the opposite side. When the light faded, roughly several hundred meters away appeared a young cultivator. This young man was slight of build with delicate features, yet one detail stood out: on the left side of his face, from the cheek slanting upward toward the temple, there lay a deep scar. Although the wound was old, the scarred skin was still puckered, with the granulation tissue forming a tiny, gaping mouth-like fissure. It looked as if someone had cut across his face with a sharp blade—an unexpectedly terrifying sight that suggested the scar was perilously close to breaking into his temple.
At that sight, Li Yan's pupils constricted. He immediately recognized the man—a cultivator from Lingchong Peak, currently in the mid‑Qi Condensation tenth level phase. It was known that he should also be accompanied by a spirit beast—a ghost‑faced horse of the mutual-generation series also around the early mid‑stage level. Li Yan recalled that he had previously observed this same man fighting against a Foundation Establishment cultivator from Bilin Peak. In that bout, the older opponent—whose cultivation had reached the late tenth level—had unleashed a widespread insect–poison attack, only to be countered when the Lingchong cultivator arranged a large formation of trees. The scent of these trees had confounded an entire swarm of poisonous insect clouds; no matter how the older combatant tried to dispel them, they stubbornly remained among the trees. In the end, this young cultivator, together with his ghost–faced horse, had triumphed. Li Yan's memory of that battle was vivid—he had even inquired with Wei Chituo about the man's background. At that very moment, as their eyes met across the battlefield, Li Yan recalled that this man was Zhou Guaner, ranked within the top twenty of Lingchong Peak. (It was not that the peaks maintained a precise ranking system; each person's progress fluctuated, and only historical rankings could offer a rough estimate. Moreover, both Lingchong Peak and Bilin Peak largely derived their strength from their associated spiritual insects and spirit beasts—whose own growth and abilities could vary dramatically from period to period—thus affecting the owner's offensive power.)
After Zhou Guaner had taken a few measuring steps on the platform, he paused and looked at Li Yan. Suddenly, his lips curled back to reveal a row of grain–white teeth as he smiled at Li Yan. The scar on his face, reminiscent of writhing worms, appeared even more savage under the moonlight. "So, you are Li Yan of Little Zhu Peak," he said coolly. "I suppose I should address you as 'Master-uncle,' shouldn't I? But Master Wang Tian said I should beat you so thoroughly that you won't be able to stand again—and then you won't need to compete further. How does that sound?"
At these words, Li Yan's brows furrowed in surprise. He had not expected that the very first words exchanged would be so provocative. It was evident that Master Wang Tian still had not forgotten the battle between Fifth Senior Brother and Zuo Shengyan, and that Zhou Guaner now intended to pass that grudge on to him. It seemed that Wang Tian was truly petty—willing to exact revenge on anyone, including those close to him.
"Oh, then let's settle this," Li Yan replied calmly, his tone even and devoid of unnecessary flourish. His measured response only took Zhou Guaner by surprise; he had not expected his opponent to be even so composed.
"Very well," Zhou Guaner sneered. "I suppose it'll be all the more entertaining to crush you—since your cultivation is even lower than that of my junior companion. Heh, heh."
In that instant, Zhou Guaner waved his hand. Almost as if summoned by his command, a massive, jet–black creature materialized out of nowhere—a ghost–faced horse whose entire coat was as dark as night, accentuated with flashes of brilliant red spots. Yet the horse's face was the most disturbing part: it appeared almost inhuman, with drooping eyes, enormous nostrils taking up half its face, and a mouth reminiscent of a delicate cherry—a grotesque contrast that sent shivers down the spines of onlookers.
"Come on, little one, let's move," Zhou Guaner said, crossing his arms over his chest. At that moment, Li Yan instantly felt a tightening surge of danger rising from deep within his body. Without delay, he leaped upward. Although cultivators at the Qi Condensation stage were not yet capable of true flight, Li Yan could manage a swift glide for a hundred meters or more. In that fleeting instant of airborne motion, he suddenly heard an ear-piercing shriek—a sound like the wailing of a grief-stricken woman—which briefly disoriented him. His body froze mid-air, and then his vision blurred as several streaks of green light advanced toward him. He immediately recognized them—it was not the first time he had seen these; they were the twisted, greenish skulls that emitted eerie, ghostly flames. Had any of that jade–green fire touched him, it would have spread instantly over his body.
At the same time, the ghost–faced horse unleashed another attack that was equally disturbing. Its delicate, cherry–like mouth began to emit a continuous, mournful wail—a sound so heartrending that it would make one's head ache and disturb the mind profoundly. Meanwhile, from the horse's enormous nostrils, a succession of tiny, twisted skulls spewed forth relentlessly. Propelled by the wind, these grotesque, spectral skulls swelled rapidly—soon growing to roughly the size of a human head—and surged in unison toward Li Yan's protective rain curtain.
Even as Li Yan endeavored to block the incoming ghostly projectiles by conjoining his spiritual sense around his vital meridians, he suddenly felt a tight grip around his ankle. Before he could react further, slender, snake-like tendrils emerged from the ground beneath him and coiled around one of his ankles. In the next heartbeat, he felt a sharp, stinging pain in his right ankle, followed by a surge of nausea—clear evidence that poisonous spines from a plant had pierced him and that toxin was now seeping into his bloodstream.
Quickly reacting, Li Yan flung his right hand forward. A thick curtain of rain erupted before him, intended to shield him from the ghostly, green skulls. Simultaneously, his left hand extended as sharply as a blade, and he directed a streak of vivid blue wind—a cutting wind–blade—downward to sever the tendrils clinging to his ankle. Two of the thin vines were sliced off; however, as soon as they were cut, more frantic tendrils erupted from the ground, as if the earth itself were determined to pin him down.
Realizing that time was of the essence and that he could not allow these poisonous vines to impede his movement, Li Yan quickly pointed his left hand downward. In response, the stone floor cracked as small, resilient blades of grass burst forth, spreading across the surface like an intricate, interlaced net. These tiny grasses, seemingly conjoined with the underground roots, managed to momentarily restrain the reaching vines—holding them down so that they could not extend fully upward. Still, the earth, desperate to produce more tendrils, continued to push out new vines, even as the grassy net fought to contain them.
Taking advantage of this brief window, Li Yan dashed away, disappearing for a few dozen meters. However, it was clear to him that his swift movement had been noticeably slowed by the lingering effects of the poisonous vines.
After narrowly evading the initial barrage, Li Yan quickly directed his spiritual energy to reform his rain curtain and to regain control of the small patch of grass on the floor. Meanwhile, in the distance, the ghost–faced horse—having seen its initial assault thwarted—ceased to spew the ghostly, green skulls. With one final, blood–curdling wail, the creature's red–spotted aura flickered ominously before it seemed to dissolve, its form disappearing into the spectral mass of skulls. In a dramatic burst, the green radiance of those skulls intensified, and swirling ribbons of red smoke emerged within the luminous green. Their swiftness increased, and the relentless onslaught caused Li Yan's rain curtain to surge with billowing smoke, gradually reducing its density. Even the potent "Fu Gu Zhi Qu" toxin—designed to adhere to his rain curtain, thereby delaying enemy advances—began to show signs of losing its effect.
Not to be outdone, Zhou Guaner then raised his hand and pointed downward. In response, the grassy surface convulsed violently, and the tiny, interwoven blades of grass seemed to ripple like a living sea. It was as if all the concealed vines beneath the earth were straining to break free and overwhelm Li Yan's formation.
"Ah, so it turns out that your secondary spiritual root is of the Wood element as well," Zhou Guaner taunted. "You've hidden it until now—saving it for this final battle, no doubt. But what a pity—it's merely an auxiliary root. Besides, how do you expect your paltry spiritual energy to constrain both my might and that of my little companion? Let this show you the true difference between our realms." With that, he infused yet another surge of spiritual force. In a cacophony of cracking sounds, innumerable slender vines broke through the net of small grass and rushed toward Li Yan from a distance of over ten meters. Li Yan's face flushed bright red as he felt fresh blood well up at the corner of his mouth; it was evident that his magical power was far inferior to Zhou Guaner's. Moreover, he was forced to divert part of his energy to counter the simultaneous assault from the ghost–faced horse—a creature whose strength appeared to match that of cultivators at roughly the sixth or seventh layer of Qi Condensation, nearly on par with Li Yan's current state.
Fortunately, Li Yan's mastery of the Gui Shui Zhen Jing—the True Scripture of the Water Element—had deepened his reservoir of magical power much more than that of his peers. Now, having reached the later part of Qi Condensation's seventh layer, almost touching the realms of late ninth level in some respects, his spiritual energy, at its peak, could be up to five times as potent as that of other cultivators at the same stage.
Yet, during Zhou Guaner's earlier onslaught, Li Yan had felt the full brunt of a tremendous force—a reminder that Zhou Guaner, a mid‑tenth‑level cultivator, was still far superior in raw strength. Even though the ancient method of the Gui Shui Zhen Jing granted him formidable resilience, Li Yan had only practiced cultivation for a few short years. Earlier, when he had faced two consummate tenth‑tier masters, he had dared not to oppose them fully. Now, facing a mid‑tenth‑level opponent, he had hoped to test his own mettle—but before long, he realized that he was still overmatched.
Under the relentless attack of Zhou Guaner, the controlled grassy barrier that Li Yan had summoned began to disperse rapidly. His channeling of spiritual energy into that mat had faltered, leaving the ground vulnerable as new, invasive vines broke through the soil without resistance.
Seeing this, Zhou Guaner let out a low, mocking laugh. "A low cultivation level is your biggest flaw," he sneered. "I haven't even used all my strength yet! Master Wang Tian always said I should beat you until you feel every ounce of suffering, so that you're thoroughly shattered—otherwise, I'd just wipe you out immediately." Though his words dripped with scorn, his attack did not relent. With careful steps, he avoided stepping onto the disintegrating grass. He was determined not to repeat the fates of Lü Qiutong and his cohorts. Even though the small grass, having lost its spiritual energy, was gradually disappearing, Zhou Guaner doubled his caution.
The invasive vines, now set loose in a frenzied dance, whipped around with ever-greater intensity. Many of them, in tandem with ghost–green skulls, charged at Li Yan's rain curtain, causing it to buckle and tremble. Seeing this, Zhou Guaner patted his storage pouch; with a flicker of light, a high‑grade blue flying dagger materialized in mid‑air. Uttering a single command—"Go!"—the dagger shot toward Li Yan, trailing an elegant line of blue radiance.
Yet even as Zhou Guaner's voice rang out, his internal thoughts betrayed surprise. "This man's toxin-infused rain curtain is truly strange—more intractable than even antidotes intended to counter spiritual radiance. No wonder Lü Qiutong and his others couldn't breach our assault. I truly do not know how he managed to refine such a deadly toxin, or why his spiritual energy remains so dense." He then unleashed his spiritual sense repeatedly to scan Li Yan, only to find, much to his chagrin, that Li Yan was still only at the mid‑sixth layer of Qi Condensation. For a moment, Zhou Guaner was left mystified.
Barely a moment later, another flying dagger—clearly a spirit instrument of considerable caliber—was seen hurtling toward Li Yan. Small, fast‐moving needles and daggers were among the most difficult of weapons to block, often imbued with additional offensive effects. With no alternative, Li Yan drawn on every last reserve of his spiritual energy and morphed his rain curtain into a complete spherical shield that enclosed him entirely while simultaneously radiating a protective spiritual light. This dual barrier, however, came at a high price: a rapid, accelerated consumption of his already waning spiritual energy.
From among the audience on the sidelines, several voices sighed in dismay. "Our Li Shishu of Little Zhu Peak is on the verge of defeat. His cultivation gap is an insuperable weakness. Although his strange rain curtain can shield him for a while, it cannot hold out for long; as his energy drains, he simply cannot keep up with Brother Zhou's relentless assault. And besides, he has to simultaneously sustain both his protective aura and the rain curtain." Another voice, dripping with cynicism, remarked, "With talents like his, how can he ever hope to become our Master-uncle? It's laughable. Apart from that bizarre water-based toxin—the only thing remotely unusual about him—I have yet to see him do anything truly extraordinary." A graceful young female disciple, anger in her tone, retorted, "I've heard that this man hasn't even been cultivating for very long. In just a few short years, he reached this level. How can you say he's so weak?" A stout fellow then added teasingly, "Then why hasn't any elder or peak master taken you as their disciple?" "Skin‑chubby—are you saying that being chubby is part of your talent?" came the riposte from another, and the banter continued.
In the midst of these murmurs, Zhao Min fixed her gaze on the crystal screen, her expression turning to one of worry. "It looks like the legendary Shili Toxin Body isn't invincible at all. At least beyond a certain number of realms—a gap spanning three or four realms—it can't compensate for that gulf. It seems that Master Li might truly be defeated this time." Standing nearby, Leichangtian observed her troubled look and couldn't help but smile as he gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Zhao Min gave him a brief look before turning back to the screen. She thought to herself, "I always believed the legends about the Shili Toxin Body were awe-inspiring—but it's a pity if Li Yan loses simply because of the cultivation gap." Though inwardly disappointed, her naturally aloof temperament meant she did not feel the need to explain further.
Elsewhere on the arena, Lin Daqiao watched as Li Yan struggled, shrinking within his rain curtain as he fought desperately for every last bit of strength. He clenched his fists and sighed in dismay. Close by, Wei Chituo looked on with a deep, growing concern. "Little brother Li, this battle will be extremely difficult for you," he murmured, for he could clearly see that Li Yan's expression was genuine in his struggle—his face growing pale, a sure sign of spiritual energy dwindling dangerously. Even Yun Chunqu, normally reserved, finally remarked, "He needs more support with channeling his qi." Meanwhile, Gong Chenying observed with a heavy heart that every time Zhou Guaner advanced by even a fraction, he did so with calculated care—scanning the surroundings thoroughly before each strike. "The Shili Toxin Body may only be effective for a brief period. Once the enemy adapts to it, its efficacy will vanish," she mused softly.
Thus, the battle carried on relentlessly. Li Yan, trapped within his rain curtain and fighting to stave off Zhou Guaner's multifaceted assault, was not only contending with his formidable opponent but also with the steady depletion of his own spiritual energy. His previous bouts—those losses to the supreme tenth-level masters and even his narrow win that relied on his "Tong Qi Lian Zhi" toxin—had all led him to this pivotal moment. Against those more powerful masters, their poison techniques had only momentarily staggered him. Yet his water-based martial artistry, combined with the mysterious potency of his self-devised toxin, had thrown a wrench into the plans of his subsequent foes. Still, the verdict from the senior masters was clear: if it were not for the ever-widening gap in cultivation, Li Yan might have a chance. But as of now, it seemed his power simply could not match up.
Time marched on as Li Yan kept a careful mental tally of his matches. By now, night had fully descended, and the enormous moon shone brilliantly over the desolate plains of the Huangyue Continent. The battle platforms, aglow with the light of array formations, provided every spectator with a crystal-clear view of the duels unfolding before them.
On one particular platform, new blue inscriptions materialized—"33" versus "20"—and the resounding voice proclaimed, "The lot is drawn. On the Ninth Battle Platform, it is 33 versus 20." Li Yan drew in a deep, fortifying breath and, without hesitation, sent his spirit instrument soaring; he then made his way toward the center of that platform. His comrades—Wei Chituo, Gong Chenying, and Yun Chunqu—all offered silently encouraging looks as they too focused on the crystal screen at the Ninth Battle Platform, their interest piqued by the promise of another crucial bout.
Soon after Li Yan reached the center, he noted that his opponent had yet to appear. He collected his spirit instrument and stood quietly, preparing himself. Suddenly, a flash of light swept over from the other side of the platform. When the light died away, a young cultivator emerged several hundred meters away—a youth with a lean build and refined features, but marked by a deep scar on his left cheek that slanted upward toward his temple, revealing a raw, almost gaping wound.
Li Yan's eyes narrowed as he instantly recognized the opponent. This was Zhou Guaner, a renowned cultivator from Lingchong Peak, known to be among the top twenty. Li Yan recalled that in an earlier contest, Zhou Guaner, accompanied by his ghost‐faced horse, had defeated a Foundation Establishment fighter from Bilin Peak by using a stratagem involving a forest of summoned trees to baffle a swarm of poisonous insects. That memory had stayed with Li Yan, and now, seeing Zhou Guaner on the battlefield, he knew whom he was facing.
Zhou Guaner regarded Li Yan for a long moment. Then, with a sudden flash of grim, white teeth and an even more ferocious appearance accentuated by the scar on his face (which under the moonlight seemed even more savage), he smirked. "So you are Li Yan of Little Zhu Peak," he declared. "I suppose I should call you 'Master-uncle,' shouldn't I? But Master Wang Tian once said I should beat you so soundly that you'd never be able to stand again—thus sparing you from further competition. How does that sound?"
Li Yan's brows furrowed in response. He had not expected such provocative words as their first exchange. Clearly, Master Wang Tian still harbored old grudges from the battle between Fifth Senior Brother and Zuo Shengyan, and it appeared that Zhou Guaner aimed to transfer that grudge onto him. It was evident that Wang Tian was a man of narrow mind—willing to exact revenge not only on his enemies but also on those around him.
Without any further ado, Li Yan replied coolly, "Very well, then. Let's do this." His tone was calm and without flamboyance—a response that even caused Zhou Guaner to be momentarily taken aback, as he had expected greater arrogance from someone he assumed inferior.
"Good," Zhou Guaner jeered. "I guess it will be all the more satisfying to beat you—especially since your cultivation is even lower than that of my junior! Heh, heh."
In that instant, Zhou Guaner waved his hand, and almost magically, a massive, pitch-black figure appeared—a ghost‑faced horse with a coat as dark as night, adorned with vivid red spots. Yet the most disturbing aspect was the horse's face: its eyes slumped, its nostrils flared grotesquely, and its delicate, cherry‑like mouth seemed eerie beyond measure, sending a chill down the spine of all who beheld it.
"Come on, let's go," Zhou Guaner said, clasping his hand over his chest. At that moment, Li Yan felt an immediate tightening in his entire body—a premonition of dire danger welling up from deep within him. Without hesitation, he leaped upward. Though a Qi Condensation cultivator was not truly capable of flight, Li Yan could manage a swift, gliding leap of a hundred or so meters. In that fleeting moment of airborne motion, a piercing shriek—like the agonized cry of a woman—rang in his ears, leaving him briefly dizzy. His body halted mid-leap, and his vision blurred as several streaks of green light rushed toward him. He recognized them instantly—twisted, greenish skulls with mouths spouting ghostly flames. If even a single flame were to touch him, its jade-green fire would spread uncontrollably over his body.
At the same time, the ghost‑faced horse unleashed another attack aimed to unnerve its target. Its delicate, cherry‑like mouth emitted a continuous, mournful wail—a sound so heartbreaking and piercing that it would leave one's head pounding in agony. From its enormous nostrils, tiny, contorted skulls began to emerge continuously. These otherworldly skulls, carried by the wind, swelled almost instantly to roughly the size of a human head and stormed directly at Li Yan's protective rain curtain.
Straining to protect himself, Li Yan braced his spiritual sense around his vital meridians, preparing to block the ghost flames and the onrushing skeletal projectiles. But at that very moment, he felt a constriction around his ankle—a sudden, tight grip. Without warning, slender, snake-like tendrils had burst from the ground and wrapped around one of his ankles. In the next heartbeat, a sharp pain shot through his right ankle, followed by a nauseating surge rising from his abdomen. He realized, with horror, that poisonous thorns had pierced his skin and that the toxin was now seeping into his system.
In an instant, Li Yan swung his right hand forward. A thick curtain of mystical rain erupted before him—a protective barrier meant to intercept and deflect the cascading green skulls. Simultaneously, his left hand extended like a razor, and he delivered a swift, blue wind–blade strike to the tendrils gripping his ankle, severing two of them. Yet almost immediately, more frantic, wild vines burst forth from the ground below, racing toward his legs with desperate force.
Realizing he could not allow the poisonous vines to close in, Li Yan directed his left hand downward once more. In response, the stone beneath him cracked open as a carpet of tiny green grasses burst forth. These minuscule blades, as if the roots of the earth had woven themselves together, formed a delicate yet tight net that temporarily restrained the encroaching vines. Even though the net was imperfect and the vines continued to push upward, it offered Li Yan a precious moment to act.
Seizing the opportunity, Li Yan dashed away, disappearing in a flash and reappearing several dozen meters away. Yet it was evident that his speed had noticeably diminished—the lingering effects of the poisonous vines had slowed him considerably.
After evading the immediate attack, Li Yan quickly focused his spiritual energy to reestablish his rain curtain and regain control of the grassy barrier beneath him. In the distance, the ghost‑faced horse, having seen its initial assault thwarted, ceased its emission of ghostly green skulls. With one final, blood‑curdling wail, its red‑spotted aura flared, then seemed to dissolve as it merged with the spectral skulls once more. This sudden fusion only intensified the green radiance, and thin ribbons of red smoke began to rise from within. The combined mass surged forward with increased speed, battering Li Yan's rain curtain. The curtain, painstakingly maintained and laced with the adhesive "Fu Gu Zhi Qu" toxin, began to thin as the relentless assault took its toll.
Not willing to relent, Zhou Guaner then pointed his hand downward again. The ground beneath convulsed violently, and the interlaced carpet of grass rippled like living water—as if the entire bed was straining to break free. It was clear that even the natural vegetation was beginning to collapse under the pressure of the emerging vines.
"Ah, so it turns out your secondary spiritual root is also Wood," Zhou Guaner taunted. "You never showed it before—did you plan to save it for this final showdown? What a pity—it's only an auxiliary talent, anyway. And with such scant spiritual energy, how do you expect to restrain both me and my little companion? Let this prove to you the vast difference in our realms." With that, he once more poured an intense surge of spiritual energy into his attack. Amidst sharp "crackling" sounds, countless slender tendrils burst through the woven grass, rushing toward Li Yan from over ten meters away. Li Yan's face burned red as fresh blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Clearly, his magical might was significantly inferior to Zhou Guaner's, and to make matters worse, he was forced to divert part of his spiritual energy to fend off the simultaneous assault from the ghost‑faced horse—a foe whose combined strength was roughly equivalent to that of a cultivator at the sixth or seventh level of Qi Condensation, nearly matching Li Yan's present state.
Fortunately, Li Yan's cultivation of the Gui Shui Zhen Jing had granted him a vast reservoir of magical energy, one that was several times deeper than that of his peers. Having advanced to the later stages of Qi Condensation's seventh level—approaching the realms of the late ninth, in some respects—he could, at peak performance, muster spiritual energy up to fivefold that of other cultivators at his level. This deep reserve allowed him to momentarily withstand the immense onslaught. During Zhou Guaner's earlier blows, Li Yan felt the full force of a colossal impact. Although Zhou Guaner himself was a mid‑tenth‑level cultivator—and even though the ancient methods of the Gui Shui Zhen Jing offered significant support—Li Yan had only been practicing for a few short years. Previously, when he faced two consummate tenth‑level masters, he dared not attempt a head‑on confrontation. Now, even with a mid‑tenth‑level foe, he found that he still could not match Zhou Guaner's might.
Under the barrage of Zhou Guaner's attacks, the carefully maintained grassy shield collapsed swiftly. The spiritual energy that Li Yan had woven into that mat dispersed, leaving the earth open for yet more poisonous vines to burst forth unchecked.
Observing this, Zhou Guaner let out a low, mocking chuckle. "Low cultivation truly is low cultivation," he jeered. "I haven't even used my full strength yet. Master Wang Tian always said I should beat you until you're utterly broken—otherwise, I'd have finished you outright." Although his words dripped with condescension, his assault continued unabated. With careful precision, he avoided the disintegrating grass, determined not to follow the unfortunate fate of Lü Qiutong and his cohorts. Even as the grass, drained of spiritual energy, gradually vanished, Zhou Guaner proceeded with even greater caution.
The emerging vines began to dance wildly, many of them merging with the ghost‑green skulls and charging relentlessly at Li Yan's rain curtain, causing it to wobble and shake violently. Seeing this, Zhou Guaner patted his storage pouch once more; in a flash of blue light, a high‑grade flying dagger materialized in mid‑air. With a crisp command—"Go!"—the dagger whistled toward Li Yan, accompanied by a trail of shimmering blue light.
At that very moment, Zhou Guaner's mind was not as carefree as his taunting words might have suggested. Deep within, he was startled. "This man's poison within his rain curtain is truly strange—more troublesome than any known anti‑spiritual light barrier. No wonder Lü Qiutong and his allies could not break through our force. I really don't know what method he used to refine such a deadly toxin, or why his spiritual energy appears so dense." He then deployed his spiritual sense repeatedly to scan Li Yan, only to realize—with growing frustration—that Li Yan was still merely at the mid‑sixth layer of Qi Condensation. For a moment, this left him baffled.
Barely a moment later, Li Yan saw yet another flying dagger directed straight for him—a spirit instrument of considerable caliber. In the realm of magical weapons, small flying needles or daggers were often the most difficult to repel, especially since they typically carried extra offensive effects. With no other option, Li Yan summoned every last bit of his spiritual energy and transformed his rain curtain into a solid, spherical shield that completely enfolded him. Simultaneously, he invoked his protective aura. Yet this double-layered defense came at a steep cost: his spiritual energy was being drained at an accelerated rate.
From beneath the platform, some spectators could only sigh. "It looks like Master Li of Little Zhu Peak is on the brink of defeat. His cultivation gap is his fatal shortcoming. Even though his strange rain curtain can provide temporary protection, it cannot hold out for long. As his energy dwindles, he simply won't be able to withstand Brother Zhou's onslaught. Not to mention, he's forced to sustain both his protective aura and the rain curtain at once." Another disciple, with a note of sarcasm in his voice, added, "With such talent, how can he ever become our Master-uncle? It's a joke. Aside from that unusual water-based poison he uses—which is somewhat intriguing—I've yet to see him do anything truly formidable." A pretty, defiant female disciple countered, "I've heard this man hasn't been cultivating for very long, yet in just a few short years he's reached this point. How can you claim he's so feeble?" A stout fellow then retorted, "Then why hasn't an elder or peak master taken you on as a disciple?" "And you," another teased, "are you hoping to gain advantage merely because you're chubby? Or is it that you have no potential at all?" Thus, among the murmurs and teasing in the crowd, the opinions ran wild.
Meanwhile, Zhao Min stared intently at the crystal screen. A trace of worry clouded her face as she whispered, "It seems that the legendary Shili Toxin Body isn't invincible after all. At least once you cross three or four realms, that gap becomes insurmountable—perhaps Li Shishu is doomed this time." Standing nearby, Leichangtian noticed her troubled expression and smiled softly as he put an arm around her shoulders. Zhao Min glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze to the screen. In her silent thoughts she mused, "I always assumed the legends of the Shili Toxin Body were unmatched. It's such a pity if Li Yan loses only because of the realm gap." Yet by nature, she was taciturn about her feelings and did not elaborate any further.
In another section of the arena, Lin Daqiao watched as Li Yan shrank within his rain curtain, struggling desperately to stay afloat. He clenched his fists and sighed inwardly. Not far away, Wei Chituo's expression grew grim as he looked at the screen. "Little brother Li, this battle is looking extremely difficult," he murmured. He could tell from Li Yan's genuine, pained expression—and the increasing pallor across his face—that the young man's spiritual energy was rapidly depleting, a sure sign that his reserves were nearly exhausted.
Even Yun Chunqu, who had remained silent up to this point, finally spoke in a low tone: "He needs more support with channeling qi." Gong Chenying, ever perceptive, observed that each time Zhou Guaner advanced by a step, he did so with extraordinary care—scanning his surroundings meticulously before each strike. With a heavy sigh, she thought, "The Shili Toxin Body may only help him temporarily; once the enemy adjusts his tactics, its effect will vanish."
Thus, as the tournament continued, Li Yan fought his duel with Zhou Guaner on the well-illuminated platform. Every move, every parry was not only a contest against his immediate foe but also a desperate battle to stave off the draining of his spiritual energy. His previous matches—those two defeats at the hands of consummate tenth‑level masters and the narrow victory secured by his "Tong Qi Lian Zhi" tactic—had all led him to this critical moment. The potent poisons of his earlier opponents had disrupted him only temporarily, leaving him dazed or delayed ever so slightly. Yet his mastery of water-based techniques combined with his mysterious, potent toxin had managed to leave his later foes gravely troubled. Even so, the consensus among his advanced opponents was that if there were not such a vast difference between their realms, Li Yan might stand a chance. But now, with the cultivation gap glaringly obvious, the odds did not favor him.
As the match intensified and the night deepened, the battle for each precious breath unfolded under the watchful glow of the moon and the radiant array lights of the battle platforms. Li Yan's struggle was not just a test of his martial prowess, but also a battle against the inevitable exhaustion of his spiritual energy. Outside, the colossal moon shone steadily over the desolate lands of Huangyue Continent, while inside the platforms, every spectator bore witness with rapt attention.
This is the account of that fateful night—a night when Li Yan's first battle had come and gone, leaving him to face the ever-looming gulf between his current cultivation and that of his peers. Some believed that the famed Shili Toxin Body might, in fact, fail to provide him the edge he needed as his opponents grew ever more experienced. Others argued that Li Yan might still have a chance if he could find a way to supplement his waning energy. Yet, in the hushed debates echoing throughout the arena and among the gathered disciples, one thought remained clear: even as the legendary techniques and innovative toxins of one fighter inspired astonishment, the brutal reality of cultivation was that beyond a certain point, a chasm would always exist—one that even the cleverest of methods might not fully bridge.
And so, as murmurs rose and the match swung between hope and despair, the fate of Li Yan—and the future of his unorthodox approach to poison and water magic—hung delicately in the balance.